Relative Consequence
by ThatHipsterBookworm
Summary: Creepypasta. Morgan Flemming had worked for 18 long years to be a successful, well-liked person, but everything crumbles in one infinitesimal moment. This story is not about Morgan. It's not even about the person Morgan is when she isn't Morgan at all, it's about something far more frightening, and far less temporary. What happens to Morgan is a mere consequence. BEN/OC eventually
1. Prologue

PROLOGUE

"Honey, wait!" a woman yelled as she dashed out the rickety door behind her son, who paused in his excited rush to hear her out. "It's going to storm later, so I don't want you staying out too long, okay?" He huffed impatiently in reply, but smiled anyway.

"'Course, mom, I'm just gonna show Jordan my new game," he called back and waved the cartridge in the air to show her, as if she didn't already know. She felt a warmness in her heart to recall how thrilled he had been to receive his first game and console to play it on, secondhand though they be. It was largely due to this that she stifled any further worrying to let him have his moment.

"Okay then, honey, just stay safe," she murmured as she stepped off the porch and gave him a tight hug, "I love you."

He wriggled in embarrassment for a second, but quickly gave in, "I know, momma, I love you, too." Pulling out of her grip once more he jogged back towards the gate, wearing a silly grin and calling a last goodbye over his shoulder.

"Have fun!" she called to the small figure and waved until he was through the gate on the neighbors' fence, a vague sick feeling settling down in her gut as soon as he disappeared from sight.

A small hand rapped its knuckles on the white-painted wood of the door, and the young boy bounced on his heels as he waited for it to open. The grey plastic cartridge was getting warm and sweaty in his grip, but he held it tightly anyway. Jordan always had the new games to play on his Nintendo, but Jordan had a nicer house and a pool and bigger television set as well, so it made sense that he would. This one was his, that was all that mattered, and at least he didn't have to share with a stupid older brother like Jordan did. He turned the cartridge over in his hands to look at it again, not caring that the sticker had been taken off and replaced with a scrawl of back marker, in fact, he kind of liked it, it matched the look of his name that he had written on the other side. Deciding that Jordan was taking far too long to open the door, he knocked again, harder this time, and heard shuffling on the other side. A minute later the door moved to reveal the last thing he wanted to see. He breathed a little sigh.

"Good afternoon, James, is Jordan home?" he politely asked the older boy, not meeting his eyes. A raindrop landed on his arm and he rubbed it off.

"Nah," was the disappointing reply, so he took a small step back, ready to beat a retreat.

"Oh, okay then, I'll come back later then-"

"What's that you got?" No, no, no, please just leave me alone today, James. "That's a game. Why've you got one of those, buddy? You know your scummy family can't afford crap. Did ya steal it?" James poked the smaller boy in the shoulder, not getting a response. The boy's stomach did triple backflips as he clutched his copy of Majora's Mask to his scrawny chest. How did the best ever take a nosedive so suddenly? James was, however, completely dissatisfied by the lack of reaction from the brat, his face screwing up in irritation. "Well, thieves don't deserve any damn thing, Benny. Guess it's my game now, ain't it?" There wasn't time to react before the plastic device was wrenched from his grip and held far out of his reach. Benjamin's eyes widened in alarm.

"Hey, that's mine! It's mine, I didn't steal it! Give it back, James!" he cried out, futilely jumping and clawing for the game with unwanted tears stinging at his eyes. The bully laughed at his attempts, and shoved him back onto the concrete path and into the increasing rain, before waving the game mockingly and slamming the door, leaving the boy sniffling outside. He was so, so sick of that guy picking on him when no one was around; he was the one who didn't deserve anything! It wasn't fair! That game was _his_, it had _Ben's_ name on it, and _he_ was the only one who should get to play with it! Benjamin bit his teeth together until they hurt, and ignored the distant grumble of the sky. Somewhere he knew that his mother would want him back now that the storm was starting, but this was his important present! He pushed himself to his feet. It was an easy decision for the kid to make, obviously the right thing, the _heroic_ thing to do was to go and teach that no good bully not to mess with him, and save his game.

He walked back up to the door and tried the knob, a small but self satisfied smile appearing when he found that James had been too stupid to lock it behind him. He steeled himself, took a deep, deep breath, and quietly opened the door. The hinges were shiny and brand new and didn't make a sound as the boy slipped inside, eyes scanning for his target. His heart beat so fast that he worried this was what heart attacks were like, but he didn't have time for paranoia, because he quickly found James kneeling in front of the TV that was bigger than theirs, setting up to plug the game in; his game. Anger swelled inside him, giving him courage through adrenaline. He crept up on the distracted boy, picking up the nearest free object as he went, which just happened to be the television remote on the arm of the sofa, until he was directly behind his tormentor. He took one more breath, and lifted the remote far above his head, bringing it back down onto the older boy's head with a battle cry, a loud crack, a pained shout, and a crash of thunder that almost shook the room.

Benjamin grinned in triumph, but only for a split second, for James whirled on him with a murderous expression like none he had ever seen, the very game cartridge still in his hand. His heart stopped, but his mind screamed, run! And so he did, dodging armchairs and coffee tables, a face like death and a chill from head to toe. James was much larger than small and scrawny Benjamin, and would land a swipe every time he was within arm's range, keeping up the chase even when the kid bolted out the back door into the backyard. From here he could scream and his mom would hear him from next door, and they both knew it. Even as Ben opened his mouth to do just that, tasting the pouring rain on his tongue, James pounced, tackling the fragile body to the wet concrete. "I'm gonna kill you, brat, I'm gonna kill you!" he growled, pounding his fists into the smaller boy's back. Benjamin couldn't breathe, couldn't even squeak from the brutal force of fists and the large body sitting on him, but he continued to struggle for his life, clawing wildly behind him, hoping to blindly meet with flesh, anything to get him off. Eventually his fingers met with something he could gain purchase on, and he flung it in a random direction. This action, of course, would seal his fate, as he watched with vague interest the grey plastic that had seemed so important when he had air in his lungs fly through the air and land in the pool that he had gone swimming in over the summer. With the raindrops pounding at the water the cartridge didn't even leave noticeable ripples, but the punches stopped. James climbed off the boy, and leant close to his face as he struggled to regain his breath. The sky flashed and thunder crashed.

"You shouldn't have done that," the bully whispered in a menacing voice, eyes full of resentment. Ben just stared at him blankly, and this frustrated the older boy all the more. "You want your friggin' game so bad, Benny?" he asked tauntingly, hauling him into his arms. "Well, go get it, you little bastard!"

There had been hardly split seconds before he had hit the surface of the water, but the rain already had him drenched, and James had forced the air out of his lungs, so Benjamin vaguely wondered if this was what swimming in the sky felt like. And then he was in the water, and the terror returned. He thrashed and tried to get upright, tried to push off the bottom of the pool, but for naught. Now he knew whyhis mom had never let him in the deep end, he was too small, not a strong enough swimmer. He gasped in water, and watched the surface that was too far away with wide, panicked eyes. This was how he was going to die? Life was really unfair. The dark sky above him split, and his last terrified thought was,_ Life, why does the lightning have to strike the pool t_-.

* * *

Well, I realized that all my nice italics and such disappeared when I uploaded this the first time, so I fixed it a little, probably not enough though. I'll do a proper job later, I think.

This story is also on Quotev (uploaded by me, of course), and I don't claim to own BEN Drowned or any other Creepypasta that make appearances in this story, but I certainly own the plot and any re-imagined ideas found. Oh, and the original characters, they're mine too. If you particularly like my headcannons, feel free to use them, but tell me so I can see what you do with my babies!

Hope you enjoy this novel-like fanfiction! It is expected to be between 50-60 thousand words when it is completed, and it certainly isn't much like any other CP fanfiction you've ever read before. I know this, because if it existed I would be reading that instead of writing this.

Leave as much criticism as you please! But I do hope you enjoy the journey as much as I do.

-ThatHipsterBookworm


	2. Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

I hadn't wanted to leave the apartment that day, but there had been nothing in the fridge to eat, and while it had been easy enough to ignore through breakfast, my stomach growled and groaned by one in the afternoon. It was enough motivation to move me to my suitcase in the corner and find the most weather resistant jacket I had brought- which wasn't weather resistant at all- and pull it on, pumping myself to brave the onslaught outside.

The stairwell was always amusing to me in a pretty grotesque fashion; dirtied handprints here, rotting pipes there, it was a wonder the building had decent apartments at all. However, the difference between spending my vacation here and one of the fancier hotels in the city was so vast in price range that I hadn't lingered long on the choice. How very practical of me, my mum would have been proud. As I stared at the shining skyscrapers out the glassless stairwell window that let the water in, however, I craved the luxuries that they must contain. Rich kids and their rich families, having life handed to them on a platter. I heard once that more millionaires live in China than any other country. I, however, had to climb seven full flights of stairs just to get to my temporary abode, because elevators are for posh schmucks. Sounded like bull to me.

When I reached the bottom floor, I almost turned around to face the hunger instead. It was bucketing out there, so much so that you'd have to be crazy to even attempt going out in it... My stomach complained loudly at the idea and twisted itself to remind me what was at stake here! I heaved a sigh, staring at my sneakers that were about to become ruined.

* * *

Two months before I had been sitting at the dining table surrounded by family in our nice, yet fairly humble home.

_I pulled the plates away from my dad, trying not to break anything in the process, which was something I was a little too prone to doing. "Don't worry about it, dad, I'll do it," I told him, taking the dirty dishes to the sink as he thanked me, taking a cloth to wipe the table down instead. As I worked the grime off of the porcelain my gut roiled beneath my calm exterior. I had to talk to them, but I dreaded it, and for no good reason too. I had every right to take a vacation before university, yeah? That's what I thought. Not so easy to convince the bubbling anxiety though... _

_"Grace, can you help me with this?" I heard my mum loudly ask my sister from the lounge room. Pfft, good luck with that, mum, I thought derisively. Obviously she had about as much success as I expected she would, because the next vocalization to filter through were muffled frustrated shouts. And then Grace was bursting into the kitchen like a little dark cloud, coming straight up to me to land a sharp kick to my shin. _

_"Ow! What on earth, Grace? I didn't even do anything!" I yelled at her, even though I wasn't really injured. It was almost a routine... Actually, scratch that, it was totally our routine. Me and my little sister. My mum followed her into the kitchen, gaping, as if she never could adjust to how her family behaved at times. It made me feel guilty that I couldn't do more to minimize these situations, except by maybe... _

_"What did you do, Grace?" _

_"She kicked me again," I answered for her, as my cute little sister glowered harder at me. _

_"Morgan was annoying me!" _

_I scoffed immediately, "I didn't even say anything! You're crazy..." My sister was silent for a moment, but her next words hit me worse than any physical lashing out she could ever do. _

_"You know what you did," she said, calmly and quietly which was something absurd for her, and stormed out of the room, assumedly to go to her room. A door slammed. Definitely to her room then. _

_This didn't help my nerves at all, because I did know what had done to her, but it hadn't been my intention. My mother heaved such a sigh, before she said the damning evidence without even knowing it: "Grace... She just isn't like you, Morgan. It would be nice if she was though, right? Much more peaceful," she smiled at me like we were sharing a private joke, and I tried to smile back. The guilt inside me felt lodged in my throat like a bite of poison apple. You think you have it rough being the problem child, Grace? _

_"Thanks for doing the dishes, Morgan," my dad said again, joining mum and I in the kitchen, "here, contraband." He chuckled at his lame joke and handed me a chocolate bar that had been concealed in the fridge, getting one for his wife and himself too. They didn't call my sister back to have one too, and I noticed. Think you have the hard share, Grace? Try living on this god forsaken pedestal. I gripped the edge of the counter, bubbles and dirty dish water pooling between my fingers. _

_"Guys, I need to tell you about something." _

_"Of course, sweetie. You can tell us anything," replied my mum, but I could see the apprehension on her face, almost see her thoughts, they were so predictable. She thought she trusted me, but she didn't really. Kind of foolish of her, I would sooner die than disappoint someone. My dad though... My eyes flicked over to him, his tense posture that had been relaxed two minutes ago. I could rely on my dad, he may not be happy, but he would be reasonable...right? _

_I took a deep breath, I had been silent for too long already, "I've been thinking about something recently." _

* * *

I melodramatically burst through the glass double doors of the nearest coffee shop. "I made it!" I exclaimed, earning the crazy foreigner many odd looks, before the other patrons when back to their steaming cups. My cheeks grew hot against my better reasoning, and I tried to look like something so small hadn't embarrassed me while I walked over to order a coffee and sandwich from the barrister running the register: a nice enough girl with good English, likely a college student, and slanted eyes full or mirth, probably from my exciting entrance.

When my order was ready I carried it to a spare table and sank into the comfy armchair, feeling slightly bad for getting it wet with my soaking clothes. I pulled my phone out of my backpack, glad that it hadn't gotten wet, and connected to the free wifi to watch the Australian news. I watched more current events than a crotchety old man, I'm sure, but there is nothing more interesting than real life if you know where to look.

I fit the earphones into my ears and pressed the 'play' button._ "Thank you for that weather report, Ingrid, and we have an in depth interview on the freak electrical storms sweeping the globe later. Yesterday a four year old boy who had been born disfigured had been found brutally murdered in his home in Townsville. Police have reported that the attack seems to have been random, but that it bares resemblance to the serial killings that have been occurring all over America since August, 2010."_ I paused the video, mulling it over before I continued. Random? I rarely believed in random murders. There was almost always a reason for a victim, even when the attacker himself was unaware of it. And I knew of this criminal. I mean, who didn't know when a serial killer had been this constant in their patterns for almost four years, never being caught once? Not a budding psychology major, that's for sure. _"Whether this is the act of the killer's now cult-like following or if he has moved away from his origin country is yet to be confirmed, as the search for the boy's murderer continues. Earlier we met with the parents..."_

* * *

The jeep bounced and rattled over the uneven terrain, jarring its passengers terribly. "Steady, Manson!" a British man yelled in good humor to the driver, whom was quite obviously named Manson, from his precarious seat in the trailer. "I have plans to meet this storm still alive to see it!"

"I doubt even death itself could keep you from seeing this bluddy storm, mate!" his cameraman guffawed, giving the first man a firm slap on the back, almost knocking him off the seat.

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning hurt, "Wilkins, you almost seem to be implying me obsessed!" "I ain't implying anything, 'Beardmore'; I'm saying it straight out," Mark Wilkins the cameraman retorted, mocking the man's stubborn habit of referring to people by their last name. "Riordan, I swear, if you pull another bluddy stunt like last time, I will _personally_ shove this _bluddy_ camera up your _bluddy_ arse. Got it?"

Riordan wrinkled his freckled nose at the mental images imposed, "I think you've made yourself perfectly clear, Wilkins. But remember that footage that you got was positively fantastic! Ratings got a huge boost, and nobody was hurt."

Wilkins looked sternly at the younger man, still not quite in his thirties, and didn't know whether to feel impressed or frustrated at his single-mindedness. "No, Riordan, if I remember correctly, _someone_ did get hurt." He waited for it to dawn on him, but only got a blank look. The forty-something year old cameraman sighed, "_You_ did, Danny, _you_ got hurt. You've been stuck on homebase duty for two months with your leg out; you do somethin' reckless on your first gig back in the field and you'll be put in the timeout pen for good. And I know you don't want that, boy."

The young man sat in contemplative silence for a moment. Then he spoke quietly to the older man that he called friend, "This is what I want to do, Mark. This is my whole life, and I'd give a hundred broken bones for my life."

"That's what I'm afraid of, Danny, that it won't be your life for long. You're not invincible, ya know, kid."

Riordan nodded in understanding of the man's concern, but broke into his usual cocky grin to lighten the mood, "Blimey, Wilkins, I'm here on this blessed Earth to make news and break scheduled tv programs, and that's never going to change-"

"There she is!" Manson cried from the front seat. The duo in the back trailer immediately clambered up to look up ahead of them, jaws dropping at the sight above the horizon. The sky was a motley of the usual clear blue and an unearthly violet, and purple-tinged static electricity crackled to the ground in bolts of lightning.

"Why, this is incredible," Riordan breathed, "it's like nothing I've ever seen!"

Wilkins just shook his head very slowly, "Boy, I've been around a lot longer than you 'ave, and I've never seen nothing like it..." After it had sunk in he dived for his camera, setting it up as fast as the lightning in the distance. "These bluddy storms've been going on for weeks now! How come we haven't seen this on the footage before?" he shouted in excitement and likely nerves, too.

"I don't know!" he replied over the growl of the engine and the ever-increasing wind. "I suppose most of the time the storm clouds have obscured the affect on the sky! It took going to the driest place on Earth to see the whole picture. Go faster, Manson! We need to get some good shots before the storm fades!" The jeep was kicked up a gear so suddenly that he almost fell off altogether, but he just laughed it off in pure glee.

Wilkins had the camera up the whole time, getting as much footage of the phenomenon as possible, and Riordan commentated, giving the limited facts that had been uncovered about the weird weather so far. As they got closer to the storm, however, the conditions became harsher, the air cackled with energy and thunder pounded their eardrums, and the jeep came to a stop. "What? No! We need to keep going, get closer!" Manson didn't seem convinced, and neither did Wilkins.

"Have you lost your bluddy mind, Danny? I've put up with your thrill seeking before, but this is something else! We got the video, it's enough."

The reporter pursed his lips and sighed, about to give in. He gave the purple lightning storm one last long look. At this point the edge of the storm's range seemed to be a mere kilometer away, and that area was getting brutally hammered, so maybe it was best to turn aro- wait, what was that? "Do you see that?" he whispered, for that was all that he could manage.

"What?" Wilkins roared over the howling wind, not hearing him but seeing his lips move.

Riordan raised an arm and pointed at the eye of the storm without clouds."_There_, what is that? Manson, we have to get closer, _now_!" he ordered the driver, who still hesitated but eventually gave into his demands. The car moved forward once more, getting dangerously close.

"This is madness, you bluddy idjit! You're gonna get us all killed! What are you even... Looking... For..." the cameraman trailed off, seeing exactly, without a doubt, what had gotten the reporter so worked up. He quickly directed the camera to the center of the storm, because now they were close enough to see what it was. A crash of lightning struck the ground barely fifty metres away, making the jeep swerve, and the men all distantly wondered how long it would be before they were hit, all concluding that it would be worth it to see with their own eyes what they were surely seeing. At the eye of this storm there was a crack in the sky.

Riordan began narrating to the camera once more, not daring to take his eyes off the sky. "Professor Anthony Sweeney has stated previously that these phenomenon are a completely natural consequence of global warming and other human tampering, but as we can plainly see, this is not your everyday storm. This could mean anything, completely change what we thought we knew about the universe and everythin-" And that's when Riordan Beardmore was struck by lightning.

* * *

**Phew! What a doosey. Well, not length-wise but to write it was. I do apologize for the frequent POV switches, but I solemnly swear that it is a temporary arrangement, just until the natural momentum of the plot picks up. Also, we have a lot of introductions to do as set up, otherwise you'll likely be left saying "what on earth is happening?" later on.**

**So, we've met the main OCs, well, all but one, but you sorta have met her/have not... well, you'll see very soon. As you may have an inkling about, this work does teeter to the side of sci-fi, so I hope that doesn't disappoint any of the simpler minds reading this, who enjoy having things vaguely explained away with "Ooooh, MAGIC. 'Twas the ghosts, I tell you!" Sorry, that was narky of me. But the point is still there; there will be no escaping detail and description with me! Hows and Whys are my favourite, much more than mere Whats.**

**You know the drill, if you have any questions, leave a comment or a PM, and I promise to give you a good answer, even if you ask for blatant spoilers (because I actually enjoy giving them). I hope you enjoy and are eager to enjoy some more! I hope to have the next chapter up within the smaller portion of a week.**

**-ThatHipsterBookworm**


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